THE MAFIA BOSS WATCHED ME SERVE HIS ENGAGEMENT DINNER WITH MY COLLAR BUTTONED TO MY CHIN—THEN HIS FIANCÉE SAID, “SHE CAUGHT HER NECK ON A COAT HOOK,” BEFORE HE HAD EVEN ASKED WHY I WOULDN’T TURN MY HEAD.

The silence in the garage was absolute, broken only by the hum of the ventilation system.

Vanessa walked slowly toward us, the suppressed pistol unwavering in her grip. The soft white fabric of her robe brushed against the concrete floor, a stark contrast to the lethal weapon in her hand.

"Vanessa, please," Anthony begged, still on his knees. "I didn't tell her anything. I was just—"

"Shut up, Anthony," Vanessa snapped, the sweet melody of her voice replaced by venom. "You've been a liability for months. Crying about your guilt. Threatening to confess. I knew I couldn't trust you to keep your mouth shut until Saturday."

She stopped ten feet away, her dark eyes shifting to me.

"And you," she sneered, looking at my bruised neck. "The little maid who doesn't know how to look away. Did you really think Luca would protect you? You're replaceable. You're nothing."

My heart hammered against my ribs, but a sudden, fierce anger flared in my chest.

"He's going to find out," I said, my voice shaking but loud. "He knows you were with Anthony today. He knows you're lying to him."

Vanessa laughed, a cold, hollow sound.

"Oh, sweetie. By the time Luca pieces this all together, he'll be facing a federal indictment for embezzlement, and I'll be in Italy with his offshore accounts. And as for you two..."

She raised the gun slightly, aiming it squarely at Anthony's chest.

"You're going to have a tragic lovers' quarrel in the garage. Such a shame."

Anthony realized what she was doing. She was going to kill us both and frame it as a murder-suicide to cover her tracks.

"Run, Sarah!" Anthony shouted.

He didn't try to save himself. In a final act of desperate redemption, Anthony lunged forward, throwing his entire body weight toward Vanessa.

Pffft.

The suppressed gunshot was terrifyingly quiet.

Anthony gasped, stopping mid-lunge. He collapsed onto the concrete, clutching his stomach, blood rapidly pooling beneath his hands.

"Anthony!" I screamed.

Vanessa calmly adjusted her aim, turning the barrel toward me.

"Your turn, sweetheart."

I didn't wait. I turned and sprinted toward the narrow service stairwell at the back of the garage.

Pffft.

A bullet sparked against the concrete pillar inches from my head, showering me in stone dust.

I threw myself through the heavy fire door, slamming it shut behind me. I scrambled up the metal stairs, my breath tearing through my lungs in ragged gasps.

I had to get to Luca. I had to tell him she was armed and dangerous.

I burst onto the first floor, running blindly through the opulent hallways, sliding on the polished hardwood floors.

"Mr. Moretti!" I screamed, not caring who heard me. "Luca!"

I rounded the corner toward his study and collided hard with a solid wall of muscle.

Strong arms caught me before I hit the floor.

"Sarah!"

It was Luca. He gripped my shoulders, his dark eyes wide with alarm. He had discarded his suit jacket, his white shirt unbuttoned at the collar.

"She has a gun!" I sobbed hysterically, gripping his shirt. "Vanessa! She shot Anthony in the garage! She's trying to kill me!"

Luca's face hardened into a mask of pure, lethal fury. He didn't ask questions. He didn't hesitate.

He pushed me behind him, drawing a heavy black handgun from his waistband in one fluid motion.

"Daniel!" Luca roared, his voice echoing through the mansion.

Footsteps thundered down the hall as the security chief and three armed guards appeared instantly.

"The garage," Luca commanded, his voice cold as ice. "Lock down the estate. Nobody leaves."

He turned back to me, his hands gently framing my face. "Are you hurt? Did she touch you?"

"No," I cried. "But Anthony... he's bleeding badly."

"Stay in my study," Luca ordered. "Lock the door. Do not open it for anyone but me."

I nodded, rushing into the study and throwing the heavy deadbolt.

I backed away from the door, my entire body trembling. I looked around the room, trying to steady my breathing.

My eyes landed on Luca's desk.

In the chaos, he had left the small cedar box open.

But it wasn't the silver pocket watch that caught my attention. It was what was resting beneath it in the box.

A heavy, black wooden rosary.

I slowly walked toward the desk, my heart skipping a beat.

The rosary was identical to the one my father used to carry. The one he had clutched the night he died of a sudden, massive heart attack three years ago.

But it wasn't just identical.

I picked it up with shaking hands. The silver crucifix had a tiny, distinct scratch across the face of Christ. A scratch my sister Maya had accidentally made with a pair of scissors when she was seven years old.